Letter To True Love By Dhruva Patel
DEAR TRUE LOVE…
You are still a gorgeous enigma even after having felt your miracle deeply since that day… It was the
month of March in 2003 when the year was just getting warmer and warmer and I felt like you had
deliberately chosen to make yourself cognizant with me. You slowly, and blissfully poured your
smooth satin self into my young cup of a heart and rampantly sprinkled the magic of your sensations
running along my marrows and incessantly blinking at the tips of my nerves. Your sweet whispers
reeled inside my sponge like head and dictated my etiquettes and my actions. The effects of you, I
believe known as “Love,” made me ponder over and contemplate about the most mundane of life’s
juvenile aspects then, with palpable purity and breath-taking passion. You very easily taught me how
effortless it was to do things with love and passion that naturally wove dedication around the
diligence you instilled into my hands.
Quaint peculiarities existed in the imaginations of you refilling yourself infinitely into the cup of my
heart after each day of tell tales of school work, young friendships growing stronger, and learning
the importance and values of blood and amicable relationships. Today I actually know that you have
never let my heart run out of your spell, even during those dry seasons when I almost felt my heart
would crack open and shatter into infinitesimal pieces, from lack of your moisture. You made me
believe in you at a tender age. My conviction in you stands stronger today. You are another name for
humanity. You are my religion.
And then again, there was that season when you finally found a way into my blood vessels and
introduced me to romantic solitudes. You brought along a sweet pain with the advice to wait with
patience for the complimenting heart that would beat for me because you swim in both of us.
Sometimes I wonder if it was wise for me to trust your fascinating illusions. In response to this
doubt, my subconscious would look at me with a stern face, mellowing down to tell me that your
powers are actually real, invincible, and mature with decades of universal intelligence. You are no
fantasy but a living rosary at the disposition of every living heart but understood by very few minds.
Your facets and powers are an effervescent multitude. You did not spare my heart from feeling like a
dry and crusty little fistful muscle contracting with pain in the life of love blindly raging inside and
bleeding through my eyes, warm on the skin rolling down my zygomatics like cold fragile pearls,
resting at my chin and waiting to hopelessly drop and splatter on to the floor. For heaven sake, I cry
when you hurt. I tremble when you rumble. I quiver when you thunder. And I run breathless when
you are angry because the fibres that shape you are the souls of my emotions. I am most vulnerable
when I fear losing you. It would wrench the life out of me if you decided to vacate my heart, body
and soul. However, it is preposterous to even muse about you leaving me for you reside inside me
like a Prayer.
I know I live to exemplify you. I strongly feel you. I am simply in love with you because you are
outrageously beautiful when you are either soothing or raging. I am yet to discover you further for
lifetimes to come for I am truly passionate about you…